


Solace

by JKRT



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Gen, brief description of gore, like destruction of the soul death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JKRT/pseuds/JKRT
Summary: Dean is dying. And what comes to meet him isn’t anything he was expecting. But hey, there are no atheists in foxholes and you don’t shoo off a pretty girl who’s comforting you in your last moments.
Kudos: 2





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> [I wrote this yeeeeaaaars ago](https://jkriting.tumblr.com/post/113083783080/solace) and never posted it here and I don't think I've ever regretted anything in fandom as much as that, learning how Supernatural ended here in 2020.  
> Additional notes at the bottom.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The Winchesters had a knack for finding their way out of the worst possible situations, especially once they had Cas on their bench, unreliable as he was. They had literally been through hell, they had stopped the end of the world; there was no problem they couldn’t solve (eventually). This one had just blindsided them.

It had been Crowley.

Of course it had, it was always Crowley, that skeet sleazy two timing bastard; always with another agenda, always with a trick up his sleeve. They should have seen it coming. They should have _expected_ this; it was _Crowley_ for Christ’s sake, why did they think that this was going to go smoothly?

Dean rolled his head back, willing the ringing in his ears to stop as the world around him stopped spinning. He’d dealt with this plenty: the all-over aching, the daggers in his back, the disorientation. It was a package deal, getting thrown through walls by supernatural beings. He braced one arm against the ruined wall behind him and prepared to stand up.

That was when it hit him.

He could not stand up. If the complete lack of feeling in his legs didn’t say that clearly enough, the broken pipe sticking through his chest got the point across. His breath caught in his throat and when it finally came free it splattered blood across his dusty lap. Oh what he would give to have that dumbass angel here right now.

“Cas….” He wheezed, “if you can hear me –and I know you can, you sonnuva bitch –I could really use a hand down here…” And he waited for the sound of wings.

“Dean Winchester.” That was not the voice of Castiel. He cracked his eyes open. Crouched before him was a woman.

“…Did it hurt when you fell from heaven sweetheart?” He grunted. He couldn’t help it. He might be dying, but if a good looking lady angel was going to be the one to save his ass, he wasn’t going to let it pass by without comment. God talking was getting hard. He quieted a waiting cough with a swallow. Breathing wasn’t much more of a cake walk. The woman smiled gently.

“Dean, I’m not an angel.” Okay, that actually worried him.

“’re you a reaper…?” He asked carefully. She shook her head slowly. Dean bared his teeth and started groping around in the rubble for the knife. He didn’t like where this was going. The woman shifted closer, grabbing his wrist.

“I’m not a demon either.” These words did nothing to for him. They could so easily be a lie. She lifted her other hand and touched his cheek. Dean found himself staring her in the face, though he had been trying to avoid looking into her eyes.  
Her touch was light and warm. It immediately stopped the lingering ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. Everything he was -every last fiber of his being told him not to trust her; that this was some sort of sugar trap, that Crowley was behind it. But his vision was going blurry at the edges and he could feel his breaths getting used up faster and faster. The reality of the moment began to creep in on him.

“So what happens now, huh? What’re you gonna do t’me?” The woman sighed.

“You die.” She said matter-of-factly. “But its _okay_ , Dean. You’ve done your part. Dying is not a failure….” He tore his head away from her hands, shaking it defiantly and mouthing the word ‘no’ over and over again.

“Sam…. SAMMY!” He finally had the wits to call, as the first tears rolled down his cheeks. “Sammy…”

“Dean? _Dean…”_ She forcefully grabbed his face and pointed it back toward her. “Shh….” She cooed, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I’m not leaving ‘im…” he choked. “I promised. Gotta look out for Sam…always….”

“Sam will be fine, Dean. This isn’t about him. This is about you.” There was a hypnotizing thrum to her voice. He had tried so hard to deny everything she said at first, but now the words pulsed through him. He could feel them resonate with something in him, and Dean couldn’t help but feel that everything she said was true. She slipped her hand from his wrist to around his fingers, then moved so that they were clasping hands on his chest.

“Everything is going to be okay Dean. You did good, and you deserve to rest now.” She squeezed his hand once before letting to and touching his wound. It seared with pain for a split second before it washed over him, like a summer breeze carrying the sun. Dean closed his eyes again, and took a long rattling breath.

“Be at peace.” She said, kissing him delicately on the forehead. His last breath came as a rasping sigh. No last thoughts or flashbacks, no fear of hell or lingering; just contentment.

And then the woman disappeared, with the sound of distant foggy wind chimes, her solace given.

-}*{-

Sam stumbled into the room, slumping against the wall for support. One foot dragged behind him and he gripped a dirty found towel to a deep gash down his side. (He’d probably get an infection from it, but he’d rather live to deal with an infection than bleed out in a condemned building.)

“ _Dean_!” He called out, wincing as he took another step. He’d have to keep to the edge of the room until he found his brother. That leg wasn’t going to support his weight anytime soon. Sam took a deep breath and glanced around the room. This was definitely where the fight had started. Dean had to be around here somewhere, as he hadn’t seen his brother since Crowley had thrown him through the wall. “DEAN.” He called again, listening intently for a reply, a cough, a groan, anything. When no answer came, he limped along the wall toward the gaping hole in the wall, grumbling. “Goddammit Dean…” This must’ve been getting tossed around one time too many for his smug asshole of a brother. He was probably lying unconscious among the rubble.

Making it through the gap was a chore, with one good leg. But he made it. Now that he was on the other side of wall, he could just make out his brother’s head and shoulders against the long collapsed wall on the far side of the room. And that was when he saw the pipe.

“DEAN!” He shouted, hobbling over as fast as he could, his bad leg giving out just as he got to his brother’s side. He grabbed the older man by the shoulders and gave him a solid shake. “ _DEAN_. Dean, say something! Come on!” Dean gave no response. Possible explanations rocketed through Sam’s mind. The most likely pushed its way to the front. With one shaking hand, he reached up to his brother’s throat and pressed two fingers to his neck and waited for a pulse. He fell back on his rear, stunned, when he felt nothing.

Dean was dead.

“No…. no, no, no, you can’t do this. _You can’t do this_ Dean, I can’t lose you again!” Yelling wouldn’t change anything. He knew that. There wasn’t anything he could do, not in the state he was in. So he called out to the only one he could think of that might be able to help.

“Look, Castiel, I know we went our separate ways, but you gotta come back. We really need you right now.” He closed his eyes and waited. The seconds stretched on into endless minutes, and still the angel had not arrived. “Oh God, Cas, come on… please… Please, if you answer any of my prayers, please let it be this one…”

And finally there was the flutter of wings.

-}*{-

Sam had never been so relieved to see an angel in his life. He nearly laughed, as that long held breath finally came out.

“Cas, thank God…” Castiel cut him off with a glare. ‘Not now.’ It said. ‘There are far more pressing matters at hand.’ The angel stepped forward to the elder Winchester brother’s body.

“How did he die?” He said finally.

“I-I don’t know, I wasn’t here. I just… found him. Like this.” He added quietly. Castiel swept back his trench coat and crouched down, reaching out his hand and placing it over Dean’s face. The angel took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

It felt like hours in the heavy silence before Castiel spoke again.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone? What, what do you mean _gone_?” Sam got hopeful. “Like he’s not actually dead?”

“Oh no, he’s dead. He’s completely dead. His _soul_ is dead. That’s what I mean. Everything that _was_ Dean Winchester? Is gone. He didn’t move on to any afterlife, he just ceased to be.”

“ _What_? What could possibly do that? What has the power to just _destroy a **soul**_?!” Castiel stood up grimly.

“I have an idea.”

“Cas? CAS, WAIT!” But the angel was gone.

-}*{-

Castiel reappeared across the world from where he had left Sam Winchester, in the quiet ruins of an ancient temple. Poised atop them, watching the sky, was a woman.

“Solace.” The woman looked up, giving a small smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Castiel… the Lost Angel. It’s nice to see you.” She sang sincerely. The angel was in no mood for pleasantries.

“I’ve come to talk to you about Dean Winchester.” He said sharply.

“Castiel….”She said gently, like a mother’s warning. “Don’t start this….”

“ _You_ started this when you dissipated his soul.”

“ _Castiel_ …” She stood up slowly. “You know what would have happened if he passed on. So long as there is a chance of them coming back, they would _take_ it. Those two would do anything to find their way back to each other, back to _Earth_. It is a cycle of grief and weariness that I cannot let continue forever. The Winchesters have done enough. They have given more than you ever could have asked from a mortal, and they deserve their peace.”

“And who are you to decide who receives eternal peace?” Castiel roared. “The final fate of a person’s _soul_ is not up to a pagan embodiment, so _stay out of this_.” He growled, turning on his heel to stalk away.

“Or _what_ , angel? You’ll burn me away with righteous fire? You know that won’t work.” The angel paused, his shoulders hunched in frustration. “As long as there is empathy in the world, the Spirit of Solace will survive.” She stepped forward, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “And we both know that you could never bring yourself to take that away from humanity.” The angel shrugged her off. His anger was already nearly boiling over, and she wasn’t helping.

“Castiel.” She said, sweeping up in front of him. He pointedly fixed his gaze elsewhere, setting his jaw. “You are right. It is not my place to decide _who_ receives peace. Every soul deserves comfort. It is only a matter of _when_.” She reached up and turned his face back toward her. “That includes you too, you know.” Solace rose up on her toes and placed a kiss on Castiel’s forehead. A feather-light blanket drifted over his being. Gentle warmth spread from the points of contact between the two beings. Solace fell back on her heels and looked the angel in the eyes.

“You have been conflicted for a very long time. But now it’s time for you to stop fighting yourself. You should feel no guilt about what you have done. Even angels are capable of mistakes, Castiel. Nothing is perfect. And that’s okay.” Subtle truth threaded through her words, weaving into the blanket of comfort that had settled upon him. Castiel felt the tension in shoulders- where his wings would be -ebb away. The weighted anger in his heart, which had hung there for years, was untied and tucked away. It was as though (to pardon the expression) he was actually, _truly_ , in heaven. He turned away from her.

It was unfit for an angel to cry, let alone for someone to see it. But she waited; patiently, knowingly. When he was sure that his voice would have no tremor, he used it again.

“…You left his brother broken.” She rested her hand on his arm.

“Then let me see his brother.”

-}*{-

Sam sat across from his dead brother, desperately trying to compose himself. Castiel disappeared without explanation all the time. He would come back and say that he had found something, or fixed it, in some way that wasn’t socially acceptable, because he was an angel and he didn’t know any better. That was just how this worked. That was how it would happen. He would show up again without warning, and-

“Cas!” The angel stood solemnly between the Winchesters. There was a woman with him. She didn’t look like an angel. She didn’t have the professional, assured demeanor of one. Instead she was graceful and relaxed, as if there was nothing in the world that could trouble her. “Who’s this?”

“Hello Sam.” She whispered sweetly, kneeling down and taking his hands into hers. “I am the Spirit of Solace. Everything is going to be fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Spirit of Solace is an OC for something I started in a college creative writing class and she just seemed to fit in the SPN verse, so I threw together this little ditty to try it out and ended up liking it. It was the first fan fiction I had written in about 10 years at the time and I was too self conscious to share it, so I forgot about it.  
> Until news of the series finale.  
> I stopped paying attention to SPN in Season 9 and I'm glad I got out when I did but god DAMN I did not think they would shaft us as hard as they did with Season 15.  
> So here's the hill I'll die on: Dean was bi, Cas deserved better, and the fandom was robbed.  
> May we all one day know peace from this bullshit.


End file.
